A Perilous Journey Ch. 00

The witch-priestess's black robes rustled about her ankles as she walked with quick measured steps through the corridor of the ancient structure. Glass globes hanging from the ceiling lit her way with an eerie mystical blue light. She had come here on orders to procure knowledge of a certain magikal artifact no matter the cost from the citadels' owner. No she thought to herself not a citadel, more like a tomb. Today, if it was day outside, the sorceress had been in the library researching, as was the way of those who practiced the art and she had found precisely what she needed.

Deloraa arrived at the heavy door that marked the entrance to her chambers, looking over her shoulder she whispered the word of command that would let her pass the wizard lock she had cast upon the door. The dark priestess entered her chamber, eager to study the ancient tome she had discovered in the stacks of Lyzandred's vast and ancient library. She had known that coming here was a wise decision; Lyzandred had spent his life collecting and researching powerful magikal items and knowledge. Even before his current state of being Lyzandred had been obsessed with his collection and research however over the years his obsession had turned to a sort of madness. Between his magikal research and his determination to maintain his current state, Lyzandred was completely preoccupied which had allowed Deloraa a long while to pursue her own studies. However the Archmage was growing impatient and he had demanded that Deloraa make good on her payment to him.

Casting back her black hood, she laid the huge dusty tome on her desk and ran her hand over the leather cover murmuring in the language of magik, searching for any dweomer that might have been placed on the book. When Deloraa was satisfied that the book was not set with any magikal traps she undid the metal clasps that held it shut and opening it she scanned the pages looking for references to her research. When the priestess found what she was looking for she quickly read through the runes that explained the spell and then went to her shelf and took down the statue that she had painstakingly created.

She carefully removed the damp linen that kept the figure from drying out; it was made from a special mixture of clay, volcanic ash, mandrake root, spring water, and her blood. Deloraa began lighting the black candles that encircled the black marble pillar in the center of the room; she then consulted the book once again and drew the magik symbol from the book on the top of the pillar. After diligently checking that everything was correct she placed the small ugly statue, about the size of a cat, atop the pedestal. Satisfied with everything Deloraa quieted her mind and began to move her hands in the exact movements prescribed in the ancient book and began to speak the words of the spell.

Deloraa repeated the spell over and over each time raising or lowering the pitch of her voice until the spell became a chant. Suddenly the candles in the room went dark, there was a great rush of air and Deloraa fell to her knees gasping for air as she felt a bit of her life-force being torn from her body. The black candles flared back to life and after opening her eyes Deloraa took a minute before trying to stand. The witch-priestess went over to the small figurine and as she breathed hotly onto the hideous face the statue began to move. First the head and neck rolled from side to side and then the arms stretching as if awakening from a long sleep, next the legs stepped forward and backward, straightening and flexing, then the tail flicked back and forth is barbed end dancing in the air, lastly the wings, dragon like in appearance folded and spread several times. Finally the mouth opened, full of tiny fangs, and then its' eyelids opened revealing black glassy eyes that looked back at hers' with understanding.

* * *

Lyzandred sat on his throne dressed in a beautiful black silken garment embroidered with Baklunish symbols stitched with gold and platinum thread, a golden half-mask adorned with feathers and inset with gems covered the upper part of his face, and over the black garment he wore robes of many colors. The Archmage could feel the powerful magik at work in his home; he smiled to himself knowing that Deloraa had just completed her homunculus. His hand came to his chest and fingered the dark purple jewel flecked with green that hung from a thick silver chain about his neck. At last the plan to receive what she had promised him, in exchange for the secret of the artifact, would begin to bear fruit.